


the only warm thing for miles

by kathryne



Category: The Old Guard (Comics)
Genre: F/F, Finding Joe and Nicky, Gen, Let Andromache Be Happy, Pre-Canon, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28100241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathryne/pseuds/kathryne
Summary: Andromache finds battlegrounds in her dreams on a regular basis - those she’s visited, those she’s forgotten, and those she’s only heard of.  There seem to be more and more of the latter lately, so a sleep full of violent death barely registers, even if everything was so sharp she could smell the bright metal stench of spilled blood.But Noriko wakes too, the same battle fading behind her eyes, and Andromache knows it’s not a coincidence.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko
Comments: 17
Kudos: 35
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	the only warm thing for miles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DeltaIV](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeltaIV/gifts).



> I really had fun writing this! I tried to tie together several prompts from your letter, including (to varying degrees):  
> when was Andy happiest?  
> what was it like trying to find each other pre-telegraph?  
> what horses have they known/owned/ridden?
> 
> I enjoyed thinking about all of these ideas, and hope you enjoy the fic! Happy Yuletide!

It’s only when she turns in the dim early light to see Noriko staring wide-eyed back at her that Andromache realizes what the dream meant.

She finds battlegrounds in her dreams on a regular basis - those she’s visited, those she’s forgotten, and those she’s only heard of. There seem to be more and more of the latter lately, so a sleep full of violent death barely registers, even if everything was so sharp she could smell the bright metal stench of spilled blood.

But Noriko wakes too, the same battle fading behind her eyes, and Andromache knows it’s not a coincidence.

“Did you,” Noriko starts, but Andromache is beyond needing or giving reassurance. She pushes up from their ta, rolling to her feet fluidly and crossing the room. The scent of the incense Noriko lit before they slept still hangs in the air and she flings open the windows, hoping to dispel it.

Noriko’s homeland is misty and green, the hills rising into low clouds, but Andromache stares out into the dim early morning and sees instead a fierce sun, brown sand, water bluer than the sky, and two armies clashing in a roar of ringing steel.

“Another,” Noriko says wonderingly, coming up behind Andromache and embracing her. Andromache’s skin, already chilled in the breeze, warms to Noriko’s and she leans back. “A new little brother,” Noriko continues, murmuring against Andromache’s shoulder. Andromache can feel the smile in Noriko’s words.

Briefly, she remembers the wrench of leaving Lykon, running from him to seek out the truth of Noriko’s constant presence in her dreams. She hasn’t regretted it since; finding Noriko, loving Noriko, gives purpose to her days. She’s not alone any more. But they’ve belonged solely to each other for so long… she’s not certain how to make space for another.

She turns in Noriko’s arms and smiles down at her. “And will we be good sisters, ‘Riko?” she asks. “Mending clothes and keeping house?”

Noriko laughs at her for that, deservedly enough. “I mend _your_ clothes,” she points out. “Our new brother, whoever he is, cannot be harder on his than you are on yours. When you wear them, that is.” She draws one hand around to caress Andromache’s stomach, grinning wickedly.

Andromache makes a high-pitched noise and covers her surprise by bending down to kiss Noriko thoroughly. “So I don’t cause you any extra work,” she whispers into Noriko’s mouth. “You see, I am always thinking of you, my love.”

“Oh, is that so?” Noriko dips her chin and glances slyly up before lowering herself gracefully back onto their ta. She props herself on one elbow and lays her other arm along the curve of her hip and thigh. “And what are you thinking now?”

Andromache follows the invitation without pause, down onto her knees so she can bend and kiss the curve of Noriko’s shoulder and twine their fingers together. But she is nothing if not honest - at least here - and so, instead of declarations of love, she says quietly, “I am thinking of travel.”

“Ah, well.” Noriko rolls onto her back and throws her arm above her head, perfectly dramatic. The picture is marred only by the soft look in her eyes. “And to where shall we travel, do you think?”

Andromache sits on her heels and casts her mind back into her dreams. The pieces come to her quickly, now that she knows what they are, what she’s being shown. She feels the heft of a spear in her hands and the shock as it meets flesh, tastes the spatter of blood in her mouth, strong and salty as the sea. 

“Someplace warm,” she starts, “hot, even. With many villages. Many people. The people - closer to my homeland than here. But not that close to mine, either. Too rocky.” She opens her eyes and looks at Noriko, asking wordlessly if she agrees.

“West,” Noriko agrees with a nod. “Far west. Past the steppes and the deserts. There was salt in the air - I could smell it. They are on the coast, somewhere.”

“And that fight - “

“Huge,” Noriko interrupts. “It sounded almost endless.” Her hands flex as though she’s wishing for her sword to defend herself against the dream.

“It may work to our advantage,” Andromache points out. “A battle that large… people will talk about it for years.”

Noriko rolls onto her front and props her chin on her hand, something almost girlish to her smile. “We’ll follow the talk,” she says, understanding. “The closer we get, the easier it will be to find the start of his trail.”

“We’ll need horses,” Andromache says absently. “Supplies. For six - seven months?” She watches Noriko carefully at that. They’ve been in her homeland for decades by now. Noriko blossoms here, and Andromache likes it well enough, and likes Noriko’s happiness even more. They’ve kept busy, kept moving, but many years have passed since they’ve set out on this sort of trek.

Indeed, Noriko tilts her head in surprise. “So long?”

“Longer,” Andromache confirms, “depending on whether we can cut through the desert and for how far. To the west, on the water… that is a vast distance.” Despite her misgivings, something deep within her - a fire nearly banked - flares to life at the thought of the long road before them. Perhaps it has been too long since she lived on the move, summer camp to winter camp and back again, and all her tribe’s land in between at her feet.

Noriko does the same calculations in her head and nods reluctantly. “We’ve been lazy too long, I suppose. But…” She trails off, considering. “Not to the south and west, do you think? On the near side of the sands?”

Noriko looks like she’s seriously convinced of the possibility, but Andromache dismisses it immediately. “No, almost certainly not. He’s far too fair-haired.”

“What?” Noriko scoffs, sitting upright. “His hair’s as dark as yours or mine and he’s bearded like the desert-dwellers. Uses a scimitar like they do, too.”

Andromache stares at her, baffled. “His beard’s red as the Celts, ‘Riko. And he’s a spearman and a sword-bearer.”

“No!” Noriko shakes her head slowly. “A scimitar, I swear it, Andromache, I felt the weight of it in my hands and the belt over my robes.”

“But he wore armour - carried a shield - ” Andromache is breathless with confusion, but Noriko’s gaze suddenly sharpens.

“A shield - what colour?” she demands.

“White, I think - white, and something else, maybe red, or maybe that was just blood - ” She cuts herself off as Noriko grabs her hands.

“Don’t you see?” Noriko is smiling even more widely than before. “Andromache, didn’t you see?” Andromache doesn’t have space to respond before Noriko bursts out, “There are _two_ of them!”

“It can’t be,” Andromache breathes, but the certainty is settling on her even as she protests.  
Two of them - one light, one dark, fighting in the same battle, dying at the same time. Two of them - their numbers doubled in a single night. Noriko squeezes her hands and Andromache matches her grin, disbelieving but delighted.

“I saw the shield,” Noriko continues, “or one like it. Maybe the whole army carries them. White, with two intersecting red lines.”

Andromache nods along as she speaks. “And I saw men in white robes. They could have had scimitars. They looked - you’re right, they looked like the desert-dwellers. But no Celt or Norman army could have driven across those sands and stayed in fighting shape.”

“So they are to the west. We should go quickly. When can we leave, do you think?” Noriko glances around their room as though she wants to start readying their packs immediately.

Andromache laughs and tugs at her hand, unbalancing her. Noriko lets herself fall to the ground, and Andromache follows, curling next to her and drawing her into an embrace. “I want to find good horses first. Ones who’ll last the distance. I won’t rush that. Better to leave a few days later than lose time to a lamed horse, or a dead one.”

“You and your horses,” Noriko grumbles, half-serious. “Have you been sneaking off to the stables at every opportunity again?”

“Yes,” Andromache admits, “which is why I won’t take any of these horses on a long trek. Too delicate, all of them.”

“Surely we could buy new horses as we need them?” Noriko squirms, and Andromache can feel how eager she is to be on their way.

“Only if we can find them. You’ll be the first to complain when we end up walking instead of riding. Think how much slower that will be.” She drops a kiss on the top of Noriko’s head to soothe her pointed words.

Noriko huffs against her collarbone and nods. “We could use new cloaks,” she adds. “And turbans, if we plan to pass through the desert.”

“You mend the clothing, then,” Andromache teases, then laughs as Noriko pinches her under her ribs. She strokes a soothing hand over the soft skin of Noriko’s back, steadying her.

“Three days?” Noriko asks, yawning.

“Perhaps four.” Andromache drapes her arm around Noriko and pulls her closer still. “You sleep, my love. Dream of these two new brothers of ours and see if you can bring us closer. And tell them we are coming.”

Noriko nods. “What do you think they’ll be like?” she asks sleepily. “I wonder where they’re from… why they’re fighting… if they’ll have new languages for us to learn...” Andromache doesn’t respond, but she listens, and she wonders too.

Eventually Noriko does sleep, but Andromache lies awake a little longer, watching the dawn climb slowly up the walls of their room. _Two of them_ , she thinks again, and a smile curves her lips without warning. She and Lykon were two, then they became three after she found Noriko, and now they are two again after Lykon’s death. And two is enough - has been enough for more years than she needs to remember. But four… four is family. Four is a tribe.

Andromache falls asleep with the smile still on her face, and for once she dreams, not of battlefields, but of the warmth of a communal fire and the laughter that surrounds it.

She dreams of home.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to walkthegale for beta!


End file.
